The Plot (30 page)

Max lay in bed, acutely aware of Cassie sleeping just across the hallway. Her door was slightly open-like her heart, he hoped, and he could hear her snoring softly. Restless, he got up and tiptoed through the living room to the front porch. A light fog hovered above the lake and across the cabins, blurring their silhouettes. Sitting on the top step, he leaned against the post and considered all that had happened, all that was about to happen. His thoughts, his ability to foresee their next move were as obscure as his fogged-in surroundings, but despite the uncertainty, he knew that he and Cassie had to act-and fast.

She had shown him the photos and Madison Hart's notes Selena had given her, old man Otis’ journal, the news clippings, DVD, and the manuscript that could change the course of history. She'd told him of the terrifying invasion by the Feds at the farmhouse. Her description of the round-faced giant, Joshua, rang a bell but Max was sure that hadn't been his name. None of the others had sounded in the least familiar, even though he'd grown up in that area. Of course, he'd left a long time ago.

He feared for Cassie. And for himself. There was no longer any doubt that Hamilton Bates was behind all that had happened. But he was a powerful man, rich and influential, and he and his pals would let nothing stand in their way. How could one young woman and a suspended cop possibly hope to fight them? Much less,
stop
them?

There was no relying on scattered groups like Joshua's to be of any real help. Sure, they could, if need be, verify the proof Cassie's father had obtained. Unfortunately, they had all been party to the killing of two Federal officers, so their own veracity would come under sharp scrutiny by a media reluctant to publicize
anything
negative about this Administration. The one thing Cassie did have going for her was her father's name. If she could just get his book published, that might carry enough weight in itself to slow, if not stop, the progress of Penseur. Still, it was a tall order.

He stood up and stared out through the fog at the motel lights across the way. There are still good men out there, he thought, and if Cassie can shine even a little light on the truth, maybe, just maybe, it'll be enough.

He walked back inside, past the room where Cassie slept silently now, and lay back across his bed. It was a long drive to New York, and he had to get some sleep. But sleep was slow in coming and was filled with dreams of spiders.

Hamilton Bates hesitated, uncertain whether he was pleased or not to receive the call from Sherman and Solomon Publishing. He'd hoped this day wouldn't come, but knowing Cassandra as he did, he'd never really doubted that it would. Taking a deep breath, he punched the button and picked up the telephone. “Good afternoon, Anne."

"Hello, Hamilton. I have some news for you.” Her voice was deep-for a woman's-and sultry.

"Yes."

"You told us to let you know if Cassandra Hart approached us about her father's book. Well, she just left my office."

"Did she bring the manuscript?"

"No. She said she's ‘feeling out the market.’ She's no fool, Hamilton. She knows the power of her father's reputation and won't reveal the manuscript until she gets the terms she wants."

"Which are?"

"That the book will be published under the same terms as we published
Linchpin
. Also, that she will maintain editorial control and have a major say in marketing strategy."

"I see.” He drew triangles on the white legal pad in front of him. “Surely she told you what the book is about."

"Yes. And, frankly, it sounds pretty far-fetched. When she first told me, I thought it must be fiction. She denied it."

He smiled a little. “What did she tell you?"

"That her father had uncovered some sort of conspiracy. Let me see exactly...” She paused, obviously checking her notes. “Ah, yes. A tightly-knit organization of international elites is on the verge of assuming control of governments, resources, and economies worldwide, but it all hinges on the outcome of the Presidential election. She says her father's book exposes not only the plan, but also the names of the people involved."

"That does sound far-fetched. It's hard to believe Madison Hart would be involved in anything like that.” He stopped doodling and leaned back, looking out the window at the gathering clouds. “Of course, I had noticed he seemed to be losing his objectivity over the past several years. What did you tell her, Anne?"

"Well, naturally, I assured her that we have the greatest respect for her father's work, but that we have already committed our resources for the year to other books."

"And what did she say?” He started drawing triangles again.

"Well, she seemed quite disappointed and pressed me pretty hard. She could tell I was somewhat skeptical about the story, even though she claims to have physical proof, as well as witnesses, that the story is factual."

He sat up straighter. “What proof?"

"Diaries, photos, videos."

J. Harold's missing journal.
He was silent a long moment. “Did you turn her down flat?"

"Yes. She told me it was essential that the book be on the shelves before November. I, of course, told her it would be impossible for any publishing house in the world to edit, proof, print, and market a book in such a short time."

"She grew up in the literary world, Anne. Do you think she believed you?"

"I'm not sure, Hamilton. She seems pretty determined and insists that it will be a real blockbuster for whoever gets the rights to it. What with Madison's recent death and all the publicity, I'm not certain she's wrong."

"So you think she'll keep trying."

"No doubt. Of course, everyone in New York is aware of your interest in this situation, although no one is exactly sure why...” She let the unspoken question hang between them.

"It's quite simple, really. Madison was a good friend and colleague for whom I had the greatest respect, but when his wife died, he changed. Of course, I wasn't aware until now what he had been working on, but from what little he told me, I couldn't help fearing that he was, ah, about to make a fool of himself. It's my hope to prevent his daughter from accidentally making my fears a reality."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

He thought a moment. “Yes. As a matter of fact, there is. Did she leave a number where she can be reached?"

"Yes. She insisted on it. ‘In case I came to my senses.’ Oh, yes. Here it is."

He jotted down the phone number beneath the row of triangles on the tablet. “Good.” He paused a moment. “On second thought, Anne, it might be best if Cassandra doesn't know of my, ah, interest at this time. Perhaps
you
could telephone her. Tell her that you felt bad about being unable to meet her needs and that you telephoned one of the smaller houses to see if they might have an opening in their production schedule. Then have her call Halcyon."

"The house that was just sold to that British conglomerate?"

"Yes. I've known the CEO for years."

"I guess I'd better call them
first
,” she suggested, “so they won't be surprised when Cassandra calls."

"No. That won't be necessary. I'll handle that. Just give me about ten minutes before you call her. If you don't hear back from me, you can assume it is safe to proceed. If Cassandra gives you any problem, call me back."

"Will do, Hamilton."

He held the receiver in his hand a moment after she hung up, then placed it in its cradle and pressed the button on the intercom. “Martha. Get me David Kingman."

She buzzed him back within moments. “They say he's out of town, Mr. Bates. Do you want to talk to his assistant, Jennifer Miles?"

"Fine, fine. She'll have to do,” he answered, irritated, and picked up the telephone.

"Good afternoon, Jennifer,” he said, calming his tone.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bates. I'm sorry Mr. Kingman isn't available, but I'll try to help.” She sounded very young. Or maybe he was just feeling old.

"Are you familiar with the name ‘Madison Hart'?"

"Sure. I was very sorry to learn of his death."

"Yes. Well, his daughter spoke to Sherman and Solomon today about her father's last manuscript. They couldn't handle it, so she will be contacting you. I want you to treat her with the greatest courtesy. Tell her that Halcyon House has an opening on its calendar and you can get his book on the market quickly. Tell her that you are eager to work with her."

The young woman hesitated. He could almost hear her resentment at the special treatment he was demanding for Cassandra.

"But, Mr. Bates. I'm not sure—"

"Jennifer. This is
not
a request. This is an important book by a very famous author. As a member of the Board, I don't want this to, ah, slip into the hands of another house.” He wished these young people would learn how the game worked.

"Yes, sir. I understand. Shall I contact you after I speak with her?” She didn't sound quite so self-important now.

"Yes. Also, tell her you'll need the manuscript, as well as any and all documentation,
immediately
in order to meet her deadline."

"What's the deadline?"

"October. Oh, and by the way, don't tell Miss Hart that I have spoken to you. Just tell her that Anne at Sherman and Solomon called to recommend that you take a look at the manuscript. Miss Hart is, ah, rather proud and would be, ah, offended if she knew that I had been of assistance."

"Yes, sir. Anne at Sherman and Solomon. I'll take care of it."

Bates hung up the phone and looked at the clock. He was supposed to be at a fund-raiser in two hours. More than enough time to wrap up a few more loose ends, he thought, picking up the red pen on his desk and turning his attention to the final draft of the President's speech.

Aware of the annoyed glances she was receiving from other diners in the hotel restaurant, Cassie reached into her purse and took out the loudly ringing cell phone. “Maybe one of those publishers has had second thoughts,” she said to Max, who continued eating as she answered it. “Yes. This is Cassandra Hart.” She paused. “Who did you say this is? I'm sorry, can you speak up a little? It's kind of noisy here.” She paused again. “Oh, yes, Anne. Have you changed your mind?” She looked at Max, silently mouthing the words “Sherman and Solomon.” He stopped chewing to listen.

"Oh, you have? Wonderful. Hold on a moment while I get something to write with."

Max handed her his pen and pocket notebook.

"Okay. What's the phone number?” She wrote it down.

"Yes. I'll call them right now. And thank you very much.” Cassie hung up and smiled at Max.

"What's wonderful?” he asked.

"That was the woman from Sherman and Solomon. Said she found a publisher who's interested and can meet my schedule."

"Which one?"

She looked at her notes. “Halcyon House. I'm supposed to call them right away."

"Now? It's six o'clock. Who works this late?” he asked, checking his watch.

"This is New York, Max,” she said as if that explained everything.

"Right. How could I forget?” he responded, but she was already headed for the relative quiet of the hotel lobby.

Max had finished his dinner and was paying the bill by the time Cassie returned.

"What's happening?” he asked when she sat down.

"You're not going to believe this,” she answered, taking a bite of her Caesar salad. “They're willing to publish Daddy's book sight unseen, just on the strength of his name."

He cocked his head. “Isn't that a little odd?"

"Well, yes, I guess so. But they're a small house trying to make a big name for themselves. They don't have any well known authors on their list, and they think publishing a book by Madison Hart will make them practically a household word."

He studied her face for a moment, not wanting to say anything negative, but he had a long habit of questioning anything that seemed too good to be true. “So what happens now?” he asked, deciding not to voice his skepticism.

She took another bite of salad before answering. “They want to see me first thing in the morning. And, of course, they want me to bring the manuscript and documentation with me. She told me that if they're to get it published before November, they have to start to work on it immediately."

"If they're so sold on your father's name and reputation, why do they need to see the documentation? Especially since they haven't even read the manuscript yet.” His sixth sense was really beginning to gnaw at him.

Cassie sighed and leaned forward. “Because November is only a couple of months away,” she said, speaking slowly as if trying to explain something to a child. “They'll have to have several people working on it at once. Normally, it would go through the reading, editing, proofing, and legal processes one at a time. That usually takes months, and this book can't wait that long."

Max just nodded. She knew more about this business than he did, but he wished there was some way to check up on this Halcyon House. If only he could call Ricky Sims. Or Sheila. But the Department was completely off limits while he was suspended.

Cassie wiped her lips and set the napkin beside her plate, then looked across at him. “Want to go sightseeing?” she asked, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"If you want to. But I'm not sure New York has much to offer besides crowds and panhandlers.” He stood and helped her from her chair, an outdated courtesy he never failed to practice.

"Bet you never stood at the top of the Empire State Building at night,” she said, leading the way toward the lobby.

"Nope. Not at night,” he admitted.

"Well, since tonight I'm on top of the world, I can't imagine a more perfect place to be,” she said as they walked through the revolving doors to hail a cab.

The Attorney General pulled Hamilton Bates aside as soon as he walked into the large ballroom crowded with bejeweled women and men in finely tailored tuxedos.

"We need to talk,” she said, looking like one of the wicked stepsisters in her bright pink evening gown.